


Lost in Translation

by LazyWriterGirl



Series: LWG'S FE Femslash Week 2019 (March Edition) [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/F, Fade to Black, Family, Marriage, Mild Language, Rarepair, Rosanneans Speak French, Slight Canon Divergence, fefemslashweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-23 05:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: FE Femslash Week 2019Day 6: TeaseIn which Cherche can't help teasing Maribelle in her own tongue, because it's not like the blonde can understand her...





	Lost in Translation

The news that Duke Virion is in fact a duke doesn't truly surprise anyone, as far as she can tell. She's surprised that many of the Shepherds are of noble birth themselves, yet never noticed it. Someone must have noticed his fine tastes and exquisite artistic sense, regardless of his "disguise" as a common, strangely accented dandy.

The little pink-clad noblewoman with the blonde ringlets watches them carefully as Cherche tells her story and outlines the threat of the Valmese under the Conqueror. She seems the least surprised of them all, and there’s a certain air of knowing in the way she watches Cherche’s lord. _Ah_. This must be her. Maribelle of Themis. The most recent one who got away if she’s listening to her duke’s stories properly.

Cherche rather likes her already, for that alone.

The Khan calls for a strategy meeting as news of the incoming Valmese ship breaks. A group of Valmese elites is coming, and with at least a quarter of the Feroxi army out hunting insurgents in the North Mountains, repelling them will be difficult. Well, more so than already.

The Ylissean grandmaster summons Maribelle to her side, pressing something into the blonde's hand once she draws near. It's golden and glints strangely. A Seal?

"If you have any beast killers, I'd suggest bringing them. The Valmese have some of the finest cavalry fighters in the world."

Robin thanks her for the suggestion and begins to run through several different battle plans. She's issuing orders too, making preparations as she addresses Khan Flavia's concerns and debates the advantages of one tactic versus another with Khan Basilio.

Cherche also rather likes her too, though in a different way.

Everyone drifts apart after a few minutes, hurrying away to polish a sword or grab an elixir or make sure that they have all the pieces of their armour ready to go. The hall empties out until it is only Cherche, her lord, and Maribelle. The noblewoman stands a little ways off from them, staring at the Seal in her hand with a look of firm determination.

So different from some other nobles she knows.

And such a _lovely_ girl. Loathe as she is to discuss the matter with her lord, he is her only option, for now. And he's waiting. Waiting for her to say something.

"Celle là en rose est belle, mon seigneur."

Virion laughs, catching the young woman's attention. His accent is strange now, the purity of his Rosannean muddled and unclear. "Soyez prudente, ma chère. Tous les roses ont des épines."

"Je suis toujours prudente, mon seigneur," she replies. Something in her tone must attract the other woman's curiosity, as Maribelle lifts her gaze to Cherche's face, alone. "Ah, ses yeux sont magnifiques!"

"Cherche," Virion begins. She knows the tone well, though it’s funny to hear it now; the last time he’d been the more responsible of the pair of them, they’d been children. He drops the trail of conversation as soon as he notices their audience, and puts on one of his most winning smiles in place of the beginnings of a stern look. "Ah, my dear Maribelle! Do be careful today."

Cherche notes the way the blonde stiffens at the address, no doubt conflicted over how to react to a man whose hand she'd rejected a year prior. She recovers remarkably well, smiling and tilting her chin daintily toward him. “Same to you, Virion. Do try not to advance before our cavalry can get into position. As an archer, you should know better."

He bows, and Cherche can see him falling easily back into his previous role of the graceful, slightly buffoonish charmer. It's easier to think of him as just Virion, when he's like this. "Your concern touches my very soul!"

The noblewoman offers him a pretty little laugh and tilts her head toward Cherche, smiling more demurely in the face of a stranger. "Are you prepared for a battle, lady knight?"

"Yes, milady," Cherche says, "I believe I am." She opens her mouth again to say something more, only for Virion to place a hand on her shoulder, the way he had when they were younger. She can practically hear his younger voice, urging her not to go through with whatever bad idea had popped into her head. “Puis-je la courtise, mon seigneur?”

Virion sighs, nodding his consent for her to do what she's going to, though she'd never once thought he wouldn't allow her the opportunity. "Bon courage à toi, femme obstiné!"

Cherche smiles at him, turning back to Maribelle only to find an expression of wondrous scorn on her face, pink flushed along her face."I do hate to be in any way presumptuous, or to seem intolerant, but I should certainly hope you are not insulting me or my comrades, lady knight. Especially not in a tongue of which we have no understanding.”

Cherche is surprised at the sudden burst of censure. It's marvelous, and she feels a sharp jolt of something sharp and wanting directed at the blonde. "Quelle esprit! Je crois que je suis amoureuse."

Virion sighs again, more deeply than before, and Cherche straightens up, looking straight into Maribelle's magnificent eyes. "I apologize for any offense I may have given, milady. Not a single word from my lips was an insult, and I shall endeavour to speak in the tongue of this continent as much as I can, moving forward."

Maribelle's lips curve into something almost like a smile. "Thank you, lady knight. I would trust in your sincerity."

"Please do, Milady," Cherche says, holding the blonde's gaze until she's almost certain she can see a blush appear.

"I hope you aren’t teasing me," says the blonde.

Oh, if she only knew… "Teasing you, milady? I would never! And please," she says, sweeping forward to bow as she takes Maribelle's hand, "call me Cherche."

Her lips just barely flutter against Maribelle's hand, and she feels the blonde tremble, a tiny thrill akin to victory thrumming through her chest.

  


The docks are swarming with the Valmese when she and Minerva arrive. She dismounts, guiding her wyvern along by the reins they haven't used in years. Robin smiles at her and gestures toward Maribelle. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to send her in alone, and now here you are."

She nods and makes her way through the crowd of soldiers, slowly, of course, to appreciate the shine off Maribelle's new armour. Moving up to a valkyrie was the logical choice, though Cherche does think it a bit of a risky thing, to promote someone mere minutes before a battle. The air is tense, the battle not truly joined. The Shepherds and their Feroxi allies huddle together, watching the other side of the docks. Waiting.

"Are you ready, milady?" she asks, hoping that her coquettish tone can be explained away as a quirk of her accent.

Maribelle turns and nearly bumps into her chest plate, close as she is. The blonde back a respectable distance away and scoffs. "A true noblewoman is always prepared."

Cherche can't help giggling at how posh the woman sounds. It's too adorable. "But of course, milady."

"Are we to be partnered, then?"

The way she's phrased the question gives rise to other untimely, though pleasant, thoughts. "Je ne peux qu'espérer…ah. I mean, yes, milady. Minerva and I shall support you from the skies." Minerva bays at the sound of her name, and Cherche watches Maribelle's horse with keen attention. "I must ask…is your horse afraid of wyverns, by any chance?"

Maribelle pats the horse's neck and shakes her head. "Celeste does not fear anything." Her indignance is utterly charming, and the clear intention of defending her horse's honour is sweet.

"My, but you are a fiery one," she replies. She likes that quite a bit.

Maribelle stops herself from replying, for some reason, and from the depth of her blush Cherche wonders if she should tone things down a little. After a moment, however, the blonde bounces back, and gives Cherche a pointed looks as if to say, _and so what if I am_?

Cherche grins.

There's no more time for chit-chat after that, because the Valmese sounds their horns; the signal to begin their charge. The echoes of hoofbeats rumbles throughout the town.

Cherche leaps onto Minerva's saddle, pleased as ever at how in tune they are with each other. She's barely lifted her hammer by the time they're up in the air. Looking down, she nods to Maribelle, who nods back and guides her horse into position.

There's a blue tome in the blonde's hands, and cherche wonders again at the grandmaster's game. What use will a beginner with a beginner's tome be against all these elite fighters?

A knight barrels toward the princess of Ylisse, bursting from an alley almost too narrow to have accommodated his massive size. The princess doesn't so much as notice, distracted from the danger as she watches a brunette pegasus knight with worried eyes.

"Right here, you worm!" Maribelle yells from her place on the ground, and Cherche watches as the air takes on a powder blue tinge. The Wind spell strikes the armoured giant in his chest and he staggers back, though it isn't quite enough to finish him off. From the looks of things, Maribelle doesn't seem sure enough of herself to cast again, and the knight's javelin rises.

"Forgetting someone?" Her hammer crushes the knight's heavy chest plate in, right where Maribelle's Wind spell struck. He falls, and his blood smears along the face of her hammer.

Noticing Maribelle's pallor, she urges Minerva to the ground. She's too concerned to note how well Celeste takes to having a horse-eating creature so near. "Alright, milady?"

"Yes. My gratitude, Cherche."

"But of course, milady.

"It's Maribelle, and yes, thank you," she answers. Cherche isn't sure why, but it's most likely correct etiquette for Maribelle to give the right of her name to the woman who's just saved her life for what probably won't be the last time today.

"Yes, of course, Maribelle." It isn't the time, but she does like the sound of the blonde's name on her own lips. "Now, Minerva and I will fly near you. Don't be afraid to call out if you need help."

Maribelle must find her too overbearing, perhaps, as her response is positively sharp. "I'm certain it shouldn't be a problem!"

"Fiery even on the battlefield," Cherche says, pausing to take the hand axe at her belt. She downs a charging cavalier with a casual flick of her wrist before looking back to Maribelle, whose eyes betray how impressed she is. "I must say, I rather _do_ like you already."

There's no time for her to hear another witty reply, as the approach of another knight forces Maribelle to turn away. She hits him twice with her Wind spell, downing him for herself, and rides away to where Robin needs her.

Cherche and Minerva take to the air, avoiding the few bow knights who've appeared in the fray.

There's no safe route to the next group, and Maribelle's spells fly through the air with regularity. Cherche swoops in from time to time, blocking blows that would have hurt, or finishing off enemies that still have a little life in them before they can retaliate. It's a fairly effective partnership, despite Maribelle's obvious reservations, but Cherche doesn't have the time to think about it too hard. There's far too much work to be done.

The number of Valmese doesn't seem to have dwindled much in the first half hour, and while the Shepherds are prepared, they are sustaining some injury. Virion smiles and waves at them with the hand holding his bow, and she can see that the other one is just hanging limply at his side, bleeding. Unusable. Maribelle motions for to Cherche to go to him on the next signal, and she and Minerva land near him just in time to hear Maribelle's haughty, "Now really, Duke Virion!"

"What can I say, lovely Maribelle, but that the Archest of Archers ventured too close to the enemy, and paid a price for his daring?"

She scoffs and heals his arm, ignoring his exultations and thanks as she rides off toward the next group in need of healing. Cherche allows herself a minute to laugh at her bewildered lord before taking to the air again. From her vantage point just under the clouds, she can see the princess on the other side of the docks, a Mend staff causing the air about her head to ripple from the force of her magic.

Turning her attention back to her partner, she watches Maribelle's Heal staff break as she fixes a gash in the Exalt's side.

Before Celeste can trot on toward the next group, Cherche and Minerva land, just in slightly in the way. "Maribelle, you need to stop, take a breath." There's blood splattered all over the woman, dying Celeste's pure white coat with red and pink.

"We're engaged in battle, at the moment!"

"And you have been running yourself ragged," Cherche says. "A tired healer is a liability."

"I think we can help with that," says the pink-haired dancer as she and the mercenary woman draw closer. The dancer leaps deftly in front of Maribelle and begins her routine, and even Cherche releases a sigh of contentment. For a moment, the screams of war die away.

It's over almost too quickly, but when the dancer's done, she smiles. "Be safe out there!"

Cherche waits for them to leave before saying, "We're to move on the ship now, by the way."

"You needn't tell me," Maribelle says, her voice more dismissive than it's ever been. "Off you go into the air. Celeste and I will make our way to the ship."

Maribelle looks like she might say something more, and Cherche prepares to answer with something charming and inoffensive, to get back into the woman's good graces. Instead, however, the valkyrie only shakes her head, perhaps thinking better of it.

"We'll be watching for danger from the skies." They rise again, Cherche trading her hammer for her hand axe.

Cherche protects Maribelle as best she can, and even has to take a turn thanking the blonde after almost getting clipped by one of the bow knights. The awful Valmese commander waits astride his horse, smug as anything, and Cherche desperately wants to be the one to take him down, except that the tall redhead gets there first, supported by the dancer. They might be married. Cherche reminds herself to look into that once this is over.

"Oh, _wonderful_ , Cordelia's done it!"

Cherche has Minerva land again, beside Celeste, who still isn't nervous at the sight of a large predator so close by. The battle is won, but the losses sustained are unfortunate, to put it lightly. The charming little town, too, is in shambles. Still, the Shepherds seem more determined than anything, which bodes well.

And Cherche must admit, it's nice to fight for her cause with other people.

"Cordelia?"

"The mercenary over there, the redhead."

"The dancer's wife?" She cranes her neck to get a better look. Even despite the standard-issue armour, this Cordelia does cut quite a figure.

Maribelle turns to look at her, scrutinizing and _just_ this side of protective. "Yes. That won't be a problem, will it?"

Cherche doesn't know why everything she says seems to come out wrong to Maribelle's ears, but any opportunity to play with the other woman is good. She's likely to get a great many of those, if things play out the way she's hoping for them to. "Not at all, Maribelle. In fact," she says, dropping her voice just a little so that the blonde has to strain to hear her, "I must admit, I'm rather jealous."

"Yes, well," Maribelle says, her face no longer pink, but a pleasant shade of red, "I do understand. Olivia is a fine woman, and Cordelia has been a favourite amongst men and women alike since our childhood. Her family isn't quite so prominent as some others, but they're landowners and excellent stewards."

"Cette femme est si charmante," Cherche says, more to herself than anything else. Does Maribelle ramble when she's nervous? It would seem so, and yet more conversation would be required to know for sure. That suits her just fine. "Oh, I just meant jealous in general," she says, ignoring the stern knight in the blue and silver armour as he says something, doubtless bad news from the grim set of his jaw.

"Oh?" Maribelle does an admirable job of covering up how she stutters, but Cherche has danced this dance so many times, with nobles even prouder than the Ylissean blonde, and she can tell what effect she's having. A spike of curiosity tends to lead to rather indelicate questioning, but to save Maribelle the personal embarrassment she laughs. Gently, of course, so as not to spook the blonde.

"Why, yes. A lovely wife is hard to find when one's country is being torn apart by invaders."

Maribelle is too flustered to respond properly to the sad part of the sentence, and Cherche delights in the next question that comes out of her mouth. It's perfect for the line she's had in mind for the last few minutes. "But if either of them were available, surely you would pursue?"

Ignoring how the question is far too personal for such an early acquaintance as theirs, lives saved or no, she giggles and looks at the noblewoman. "No, I don't believe I would."

"And why not?" Maribelle says, and she's suddenly all fire again, prepared to leap to the defense of her friends' virtues that seems imminently necessary.

Cherche only smiles, drawing the moment out as she turns to catch Robin's eye. The woman wants to speak to her, clearly, and the timing is almost perfect…now.

"Cherche? A word, please?"

"Yes, Robin, of course," she calls back. She starts to walk toward the tactician, only to turn to Maribelle over her shoulder to say, "I own that they're both exceedingly lovely, but I must say…I do have a _particular_ preference for blondes."

The blonde she particularly prefers sputters in a most unladylike fashion, causing her to have to stifle a laugh as she walks away.

  
  
  


There's a girl who looks like Chrom standing in front of them and telling them that she comes from the future, and yet Cherche can't quite be sure if she can believe it. It's just too…fantastical. And yes, there is magic, and the Voice of Naga does live atop the Mila tree, but time travel?  It's like the stories she and Virion used to read in between his lessons and her training, and it doesn't sit right with her even though everyone else says that it makes perfect sense.

She's developed a friendship with the Shepherds during their travel to Carrion Isle, and as they had toward the sea she questions a few of them about it. Robin, in particular, looks in need of distraction after the revelation that she is, in fact, daughter of the Plegian King. Quite frankly, Cherche thinks that she must have gotten every notable quality in her possession from her mother.

"Robin? I know that I might be overthinking what everyone else seems to have accepted, but I can't help but have questions."

"For…oh. Lucina? I mean, that's fair. You've never met the baby Lucina; she's back at Castle Ylisstol with the wet nurse and an army of caretakers."

"And her mother?" Robin points out the brash, short haired redhead that Cherche has taken something of a shine to. "Sully?"

"Yes," Robin says, clearly amused by the surprise that must have just taken up residence on Cherche's face. "Sully's queen of Ylisse. Chrom's wife." When Cherche still doesn't say anything in reply, she adds, "There are quite a few knight-and-noble relationships in this army."

Ah. "I see," Cherche says, and inadvertently her thoughts turn to Maribelle. She's a noble. And Cherche is a knight. Not an Ylissean knight, mind, but still. A knight. "Il n'est certainement pas un vœu impossible…" She looks up, scanning the road for Maribelle. The blonde is up ahead, chatting with Lissa, who seems beyond excited to have her adult niece along.

Robin clears her throat, and Cherche wonders if the tactician has followed her gaze, or if she's just trying to move the conversation forward. "It's not at all uncommon." There's something knowing in the other woman's smile, and Cherche wonders what Naga must have done to ensure the odds of so many clever people serving in the same army. "And if there are any doubts as to Lucina's truth, might I suggest joining us when we camp for the night? The question on the minds of many is whether they too have children; Lucina had mentioned a good number of others that came through with her."

 

Chrom and Robin call for camp that same night, and as Robin had said, the women of the Shepherds crowd around Lucina's fire. Cherche is unsurprised to see Maribelle there, huddled near Lissa and Sumia. She takes a seat between Robin and Miriel, right across from Maribelle.

"Aunt Sumia, you had a question?" Lucina asks, and Sumia and Lissa both blush at the word "aunt". The pair of them look very much embarrassed by whatever it is they wanted to ask, but eventually Sumia finds her voice.

"Do you…have any cousins?"

Well that's certainly a roundabout way to ask if they have children. Cherche catches Maribelle's eye and smiles pleased to see how the blonde nods at her, lips placed in their usual pretty way. She turns her attention back to Lucina, if only to lessen the sensation of butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. It's been going on for at least a few weeks now, this feeling. She's caught between knowing the reason for it and not wanting to admit it to herself.

"I have two, a boy and a girl. They're both…wonderfully exuberant. Unique," she says, a slight smile on her face. She turns to Maribelle, "And of course, both of your sons are amongst our dearest friends. I called you my aunt, in…my world." There's a moment of silence for the remembrance of a place only she has ever known, but then Lucina smiles again and the questions resume.

Maribelle looks surprised at the news, and Cherche wonders if she'd never expected to have sons. "Two sons? Well, my father will be blessed proud to hear that."

Cherche can't resist teasing, just a little bit. "I can just picture your household, Maribelle. You flanked by two lovely, well-bred lads, a handsome lordly husband standing by, smiling proudly."

The chatter around the fire dies immediately, and Cherche is struck by the feeling that she's gone and said something foolish. It's Lucina who saves the conversation, directing attention her way through a polite cough. "Actually, Aunt Maribelle, you don't have a husband. And neither do you…tante Cherche."

It's the one Rosannean word in the bunch that speaks the thought in her head, but she's not sure if she should ask. Maribelle doesn't seem all too perturbed that she doesn't have a husband—and really, given how close they've become over so short a time, Cherche is surprised at herself for not knowing better. Many of the women of the Shepherds are of a similar persuasion, herself included.

"Ce n'est pas possible…" She stops, catching the eyes on her. "Ah, Lucina, you speak Rosannean?"

Lucina looks at her, and Cherche isn't surprised that she seems to understand what she wants. "Oui, je le parle." Her accent is a bit rote, not quite as free-flowing as a natural speaker, and Cherche wouldn't be surprised to hear some Ylissicism's strewn in, but it's just as well. "Avez-vous une question, tante?"

The accent is good, very clear, but suddenly Cherche is afraid to ask. She's been thinking of Maribelle a lot in the few months they've known each other, fighting side by side at almost every opportunity. Her feelings at this juncture are…perhaps more serious than she would have originally liked.

She goes around her original question, instead, hoping Lucina will know what she's really asking. "Lucina…est-ce que je suis mariée dans votre monde?"

"Oui, et votre femme vous aime plus que sa propre vie." There's a slight tilt of her head, a barely perceptible twitch in Maribelle's direction, and Cherche allows herself to look at the blonde, who's seemingly barely listening to their exchange.

"Et est-ce que j'ai des fils?" She tries to keep her tone light, tries not to make it seem as if she's desperate, or anything."

Lucina smiles, answering in the same easy tone. It's actually somewhat comical, how dissonant the tone is from Lucina's usual cool manner of speaking. "Vos fils sont fiers d'êtres les enfants de deux mères honorables."

She thanks the girl and smiles, noting how Maribelle seems even more distracted now. What could _possibly_ be going on with her? When the blonde's eyes meet hers, she can't read them. Concerning, especially in light of what she's just learned. Lucina had all but confirmed it directly.

Maribelle excuses herself as Lucina, blushing, addresses Olivia and Cordelia regarding their children, a son and—"a daughter who does not know her own loveliness"—and Cherche follows as quickly as she can without it looking suspicious.

The blonde has only just made it out of range of the campfire when Cherche comes up behind her, allowing her some space. She's walking far more slowly than her usual brisk half-step, and there's a tiny furrow in her brow that fully captures Cherche's attention.

The more time she spends with Maribelle, the more every single thing about the woman has her completely enamoured. Though the blonde is clearly troubled by something, Cherche can't quiet her admiration. She walks just closely enough that Maribelle can hear her approach, and when the other woman turns she can't stop herself from saying, "Quelle beauté, même quand elle s'inquiète." When Maribelle doesn't respond, only turning away to continue her slow, thoughtful pace, Cherche sighs. "Chère coeur, vous êtes préoccupés, et je ne veux rien sauf de vous aider. Comment puis-je le faire quand vous ne savez pas mon coeur?"

Maribelle whips around. "I should certainly hope you are not teasing me, Cherche. I have thought us too close for that for some time now." Her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright, and Cherche's heart soars.

"I'm not doing any such thing, Maribelle."

The blonde sighs, then dips her head in acknowledgement, the movement as thoughtfully slow as her pace. "Yes, well…I do suppose you teased me enough for one night, back there." There's something in her tone that's beyond reproach. It almost sounds like disappointment, if Cherche is being perfectly honest.

"I am truly sorry, Maribelle. I didn't mean anything by it."

Maribelle inclines her head again, tilting her face up to meet Cherche's eyes. It feels as if she's weighing her options now, but after a moment she looks away. They stop outside the blonde's tent, and in the glow of the lantern Maribelle's eyes glow, incendiary. "Cherche, I must settle this matter now, else I shall not sleep at all. Are you interested in me in the slightest?"

"Am I…what?"

Maribelle sighs and takes one of Cherche's hands in both of her own, holding it near her chest. "I'm uncertain as to how I might make this any clearer, darling, but if I'm to marry anyone at all, I would like it to be _you_."

"Milady!"

"Maribelle," she says, correcting Cherche with that determined look in her eyes.

"You couldn't possibly…"

"I'm quite sure that I could, and do intend to should it be your wish, as well," Maribelle says, snappish and peeved in that way that Cherche so likes. "But if I've misread anything at all, I d—

"No!" Cherche comes to her senses as soon as Maribelle's hands release hers. "Not at all. You're right. You…I feel the same for you."

"So…"

Cherche grins, taking the liberty of pulling Maribelle toward her. The fine blush that blooms over the blonde's cheeks is more than charming. "I suppose that earlier, I should have said I pictured you with your two little lords and a dashing, chivalrous, beautiful wife standing by." Maribelle blushes even harder and presses against Cherche's chest. She can't help but giggle, lifting the other woman's chin with a hand. "Oh, Maribelle. How precious you are to me."

Maribelle sighs, "I fear I'm going to regret this, and yet…I do love you far too well to describe."

"If only you knew how much I love you," Cherche says, leaning down close enough that they're almost sharing breath. Just before Maribelle can tilt upward enough for it to be a kiss, she pulls away, leaving the other woman to kiss the air. "Well goodnight then, my dear. Sweet dreams!" She turns heel and runs, winking at the woman she loves as if she were a youth again, speeding off on another adventure instead of being content at home.

Maribelle's harrumph of irritation is followed by a loud, "There's not been a proposal yet!"

She laughs. "Oh, darling, let me worry about that!"

  


The wedding is simple, and Maribelle is stunning in a white dress that's just a slight touch more fancy than her usual wear. Cherche changes into one of the few fine outfits she owns, and they marry in a cleaned-up barn shortly after rescuing the princess of Chon'sin on a Valmese dock.

"Now darling, we're certainly going to have to have a proper ceremony once all this is over," says her wife as they sit at the tables that the townsfolk had been kind of enough to provide for the wedding reception.

Cherche nods, placing a hand on Maribelle's thigh. They've kissed before tonight, but no more, with respect to her wife's values. Now though? Now, she's going to go on with her teasing, only perhaps a bit more…pleasurably than before.

Maribelle accepts congratulations on both of their behalfs, the practice uncommon as it is amongst Rosanneans. As she does, Cherche moves her hand just a little higher, a little closer. The festivities are hitting their high, but she has another sort of celebration in mind. Chrom and Virion congratulate them, Chrom's face already red from the wine and ale and the heat of the dancing around him.

"My thanks, Chrom," she says, knowing that it would be rude of her not to address the Exalt.

Virion looks like he's about to make one of his long speeches, so she cuts him off with a smile and a thank you as she sneaks her hand farther up her wife's thigh. "Cherche!" hisses the other woman, and her fiery eyes are beautiful. "Honestly, darling, can't you wait?"

"No," she says, kissing her wife with a mere fraction of the passion she's been withholding for hours now. "Can you?"

Maribelle looks a little dazed, but she shakes her head after a moment. "They're celebrating for us, though…"

Cherche shakes her head, kissing her the corner of Maribelle's mouth, then her cheek, then her neck. "Oh no, my dear, they _were_ celebrating for us. It's become rather a general sort of fete. I'm going to our tent now, if you want to come." She kisses her wife's hand, the finger onto which she'd slid a slim gold band only hours before. Then, throwing it in though her wife doesn't understand her native tongue, "Je te désire."

Maribelle shivers. "What do you mean?"

Cherche, giddy on the high of this happiness, can barely think, let alone speak in the language she and her wife share. "C'est ma manière incroyablement subtile de te demander si je peux te baiser."

Maribelle giggles. Cherche thanks her ancestors for staying in Rosanne; the language does it’s work even when understanding is lacking, it would seem.

They're stumbling toward their tent in the dark, and Cherche's deft hands are already seeking the ties to Maribelle's dress. She's breathless from the anticipation as the flap of the tent flutters closed behind them, and Maribelle is little better. The world shrinks down to their tent and their cot, and the woman she's just married.

It's been a long time since she's done this, and she wonders if Maribelle ever has.

"Cherche."

"Tu me rends folle," she says, nipping the pale skin of her wife's neck as her fingers continue their work. The wedding dress slides off with a tug, and despite her wife's protests Cherche throws it over a wooden chest with little thought. "My gorgeous wife."

Maribelle's blush spreads all over, visible everywhere her smallclothes don't cover. "Oh please, don't stare."

"So modest," Cherche murmurs. "I couldn't look away if I tried."

Maribelle's eyes flash with something she doesn't quite recognize, though she's delighted when the blonde asks, in a voice as innocent as can be, "How do I tell you to...take me?"

Cherche kisses her, hard, and slides out of her dress before answering, "You would say, prends-moi."

Maribelle half-whispers it, and Cherche has to remind herself that she should make this count. This isn't like the other times. Maribelle is her wife. The most special woman she’s ever met.

Before she can comply with the request, however, Maribelle grins, and if she hadn't been ready yet, she certainly is at the devilish gleam in her wife's eyes. "And if I wanted to say it in a more…urgent way?"

She busies herself with the ties of Maribelle's smallclothes before leaning in close, feeling some, but not enough of her wife's skin against her own. "Baise-moi," she says, close and low to Maribelle's ear.

The blonde repeats the words, Cherche is only too happy to do as she's told.

  
  
  
  
  


Children from the future, everywhere! Robin and Say'ri marry shortly after the Voice of Naga comes down from the Mila tree to help them, and they find their son—an amnesiac like his tactician mother—in a strange temple. A brief detour into Regna Ferox sees them reunited with the second princess of Ylisse, and then farther south, to find and rout a dangerous sorcerer in control of a fortress. Cordelia and Olivia's daughter takes a third of his forces on her own, and Cherche notices how the serious future Exalt takes joy in the reunion. Upon returning to Valm, they find Sumia and Lissa's eccentric son in a small village overrun by brigands, and his wonderful, eccentric exuberance makes both her and Maribelle wonder what sort of children they must have, if they are such close friends with a boy of such…colourful personality.

They've just stopped outside Wyvern Valley when they hear reports of poachers. Chrom takes one look at Minerva and Cherche, both agitated beyond belief, and tells his troops to move out.

There are villagers in trouble, trying to protect the wyverns, and a young man seems to have joined their side. He's tall, wearing a black mask and black clothes that make his pale blond hair look even paler. He rides astride a black wyvern, older than her own, and there's a tugging feeling in her chest when she looks at him. Maribelle notices the young man too, and she must feel the same way, as she says, "My love, you don't think…?"

"It might be. I shall go and see," she says, kissing Maribelle as she prepares to approach the stranger. The others equip themselves for the battle, Sumia with her son on her alicorn, Say'ri and Robin flanking their son. Robin places Cherche nearest to the stranger with a knowing smile, and Cherche goes to greet him as soon as she gets the chance.

He's taciturn and sullen, but seems to be a good fighter, and his name is Gerome. Just like her father. He's _hers_. Her boy. Cherche seeks out her wife's eyes, and when their gazes meet, she nods. Maribelle smiles, but there's worry on her face that Cherche has never seen before.

 

She watches her son's back throughout the battle, and Maribelle pulls him out of a few dangerous situations with her Rescue staff. Cherche watches how he interacts with Maribelle, and finds that where he seems reluctant to speak to her, he's reserved, but undoubtedly respectful to her wife. She has to smile to herself at that; of course Maribelle would demand respect of her son, no matter his lack of social graces.

 _How_ he ended up with no such social graces is, of course, a mystery to be unravelled.

 

After the battle, he agrees to join the Shepherds, for now, and the sight of two Minervas together nearly brings a tear to her eye. Gerome watches his Minerva nuzzle her, and she thinks that may be the reason why he decides to set up his tent near theirs. He doesn't speak to them much, not for weeks, and one day, Maribelle asks her if she notices anything strange about their son.

"You mean aside from how he doesn't speak to anyone, and never takes off that mask?"

"Well, yes, darling, but…he seems to be looking for someone."

Cherche holds her wife close. "Lucina said we have two sons, didn't she? He must be looking for his brother."

Maribelle's face pales at the thought, and she does her best to assure her wife that things will turn out okay. She's too tired to tease now. How can she, when she's as worried as Maribelle? Sometimes, though she does not think him aware of it, she hears Gerome calling for his petit-frère, calling for _Brady_ , and when she tells Maribelle, the blonde worries even more.

 

Where is their other boy?

 

The road through Valm is fraught with danger, and they have to turn back so many times that she wonders how they will ever get to the Conqueror. Still, it does give her a chance to bond with her son, through battle if nothing else, and slowly, very slowly, Gerome seems to come to accept that while she is not the woman who raised him, she is still his mother regardless. One evening, he sits by she and Maribelle in the mess hall, and Cordelia and Olivia, with their lovely daughter in tow, give the family some much needed space. "You did a good job today, Gerome," Cherche says, referring to his prowess in the battle of the day.

"Hm," he says, spooning stew into his mouth with his usual stoicism.

Maribelle looks between the pair of them, and from the way her lips curve Cherche knows her wife has noticed something that she must have missed. "You've never quite shown such motivation, darling."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, mère," he demurs, traces of Maribelle in the surprisingly polite deflection.

Maribelle doesn't bat an eyelash before saying, plain as can be, "So, does Morgan return your affections, Gerome, or have you yet to tell him that you care for him?"

Cherche and Gerome both nearly choke on their stew. Cherche recovers first, even manages to laugh at her son's face. Even without seeing his eyes, she can tell that he's distraught. "Oh well done, my love! Gerome, that's very sweet." Maribelle lays a hand on her arm, and Cherche kisses her wife's cheek, still intent on bothering their son. "You know, you should really tell him sooner rather than later. Il faut être honnête."

"Ne me dites pas quoi faire, _Cherche_. Vous n'êtes pas ma mère."

At the sound of his tone, her wife's face colours the dark pink of her anger. "Gerome!" Maribelle snaps, causing him to look down into his bowl of stew with what she imagines is repentance. Cherche can't say it doesn't sting, but technically he's right, after all. They haven't had Gerome yet. The young man in front of her is the son she will one day have, but she is not his mother in the strictest sense.

"Ma belle, please, he didn't mean anything by it…"

"I don't care. Now you listen to me, young man," she says, and Cherche watches her large, brooding son cower before his tiny, pink-clad mother, "I never want to hear you disrespecting your mother in any way, in or out of her presence. Do you understand me?"

Cherche can't even pretend to hide her surprise when Gerome not only nods, but mumbles a disconsolate "je suis désolé" before excusing himself. She turns to her wife, kissing her soundly. "Ma belle, my soft, delicate wife, such an iron-fisted mother! Who ever would have thought?"

"I may be delicate, my darling, but I am not so soft as some might think."

Cherche laughs, because despite the residual nasty feeling in her stomach after Gerome's dismissal, she finds she has the heart to tease her wife again. "I don't know, sweetness, I think you soft in all the ways that matter."

Maribelle fixes her with a look that speaks volumes more than her words. "You just can't help yourself from teasing me, can you, darling?"

"Non."

  
  
  
  


To think that even a shrine would suffer an attack offends even Cherche, who isn't of a particularly religious bent. There's a young man standing in the centre of it all, a staff held in hands that look as if they are moments from shaking. He's a tall youth, slight but strong, and though he looks somewhat scary Cherche thinks him incredibly adorable. And his hair is an awfully familiar colour…

As soon as Gerome sees him, he cries out, "Brady!" and Minerva's roar rings across the field.

"Brady?" asks her wife, and Cherche shivers with recognition. "But he hasn't anything to defend himself with…oh, Cherche, we must do something!" Maribelle pulls at her arm, and she nods.

"Don't worry, ma chère, I'll save him."

Chrom and Kjelle get to Brady before she does, and as her son takes a Seal from the convoy, dragging a bronze axe in his other hand, she could cry. Her boy. So brave despite his inexperience, so ready to defend the innocent.

When she flies up to him and gives him a hand, to pull him up to Minerva, she sees tears in his eyes. "Maman?" She has to guide Minerva back to the ground at the sound of his voice, so scared and disbelieving despite his thuggish appearance. "Maman? I'm not dreamin or nothin', right? It's really you?"

"Yes, Brady, it's me," she says, thrilled that her second son seems to have less reservations about her than her eldest. "You were very brave, sweetheart."

"Thanks, maman," he says, and then he's crying and she's trying to be strong whilst rubbing his back, because yes, it isn't the time, but she's not about to tell her boy not to feel his emotions. The least she could do is allow him this much before they have to focus. He doesn't linger too long and when he pulls back, rubbing his eyes, she can see bits of her and bits of Maribelle despite him not looking like the delicate lordling she'd imagined all those months ago. "Maman, vous m'avez tellement manqué!

She hugs him tightly, hoping he won't stop crying again, "Tout va bien, Brady, je suis là." She wipes a few stray tears from her son's face and pats his cheek. "Now come, let's save these people. Your brother has been waiting for you."

"Okay, maman, I'll try not to get in yer way," he says, and she somehow doubts that he will.

  


Gerome is more emotional than she's ever seen him. As soon as Brady hops off of Minerva, giving her a pat on the snout just as she always does, the young man is swept up in his brother's embrace. "You absolute fool. Je t'ai dit de pas le lâcher! And what did you do?!"

Brady shuffles from foot to foot, eager to get out from under his brother’s arms. "C'était plutôt difficile…"

Cherche smiles, unbelievably proud of her boys and glad that they've grown up to be so close. And they speak her mother tongue with wonderful accents, too. "You both speak Rosannean very well."

"Of course we do, maman," says Gerome, suddenly shy now that his brother is safe. "Mère was always insistent that we be proud of our heritage."

She laughs, pulling her wife close. "Je ne peux pas m'imaginer comme enseignante."

The brothers share a look that she doesn't understand, and Brady, in a voice that says he knows that what he's saying will come as a shock, says, "Maman, vous ne nous pas appris à parler la rosannie." He shakes his head. "Ma always did say you were too easy on us an' took it upon herself."

"But how…"

 _Wait_.

Cherche thinks back to all the times she's spoken in her own tongue around Maribelle. She'd only ever been complimentary, really, and occasionally a little randy, so that isn't what she's worried about. If Maribelle has understood her all this time, however…

"Ma belle…you told me you didn't understand Rosannean!"

Maribelle tilts her head, eyes smiling. "No, no, darling, I believe I said _we_ that first time. We as a collective group did not understand Rosannean, but I am daughter of a duke, and you know of my interest in becoming a magistrate." She laughs behind her hand. "Foreign language is a must, in either case."

If Cherche were anyone else, she thinks she might faint from the shock. "But that means—

"Don't think about it too hard, darling," Maribelle says, pulling Cherche a short ways away from their boys. "Let's just see Brady settled in, perhaps have a nice meal as a family?"

"And then?"

Maribelle's magnificent eyes ensnare her own, and the grin on her lips is that rare, devilish thing that Cherche loves so very much. "And then…tu peux me baise comme tu veux."

Cherche swallows hard. "I do hope you aren't teasing me, Maribelle."

" _Me_ ? Tease _you_? Never."

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 and it's late AF. Pardon my French, I technically do speak, write and read it but it's one of three languages going on in my head, and is the weakest of the three.
> 
> Hit me up [on Tumblr](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com) if you wanna, I'll take requests/listen to you about whatever/or just answer whatever questions you may have cuz I...don't talk to people in real life about my writing.


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